A Piece of Pumpkin Pie
by Aimlessly Unknown
Summary: She's a bookworm. He's a Hero. They shouldn't fit, but they do. These are their stories. Drabbles of HHr.
1. static fills the cracks

Harry/Hermione dance scene.

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><p>They're on the brink of something beautiful.<p>

She is wrapped in his arms, twisting and turning like there's no war outside of these frail walls, and he is holding her tightly as if he can protect her from everything they've ever done and everything they will be forced to do.

(_blood on the hands feels heavier than a troll on your back_ he remembers reading once, remembers crying because it was true, and his hands are as heavy as the sky itself)

The music is mournful, slow with their lives so far, with their pain.

She dances like it's her first time, stumbling over herself, stepping on his feet sometimes, and that was alright because it was just them. Just them; just them with those thoughts of kissing one another, of being with someone other than who everyone expects – they _could_, they know, they could love each other and no one would blame them. Oh, sure Ron would be mad, Ginny heartbroken, but they'd get over it! They would! Harry could do something for once that makes him happy. Hermione could finally be in a relationship that doesn't tear at her self-esteem and truly made her smile.

The music crescendos with his thoughts, with their possibilities.

It's a beautiful thing over this edge of no return. A picket fence, a warm family, kisses at night before they sleep, and dancing.

It could happen. It _could_. But Hermione is smart, Hermione is a _genius_, and she knew it couldn't be. They couldn't be.

Warm, cloudy melodies fade into the slow edge of a losing battle, of a slowing song.

Because they're heroes, they're martyrs, and they do what the world needs; not what they want. And the world needs her to be with Ron – to make Ron feel useful, feel brave – needs Harry to be with Ginny – to make her fight for him, to make her love him. And it's not pretty, it's not nice, but this is War – _the _War, and this is the final battle. The countdown.

She walks away from him – from what could have been – and the radio turns to static.

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><p>Review please!<p>

Aimlessly Unknown


	2. the difference is in a kiss

Kisses galore!

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><p>Ginny's kiss tastes like adoration. Like a childhood dream coming true, a girl in her bed wrapped in dreams and stories, wishing on the shooting stars that she would be the one for the boy-who-is-a-hero. Her hands are on his shoulders, like every princess knows, and her head is tilted at just the right angle, the perfect kiss from a princess for a boy-who-will-be-victorious.<p>

The brief kiss he shares with Cho, her soft, wet kiss, tastes like delusions and loss. It is a brief one, a weird kiss, which expresses her love - but not for him. Her lips are chapped and sticky with food, a soft kiss from the lonely-girl for the boy-who-shouldn't-have-been-the-one-to-return.

When Hermione kisses him, it tastes like Hermione. Like books and hope and misery all at once. Like a warrior's kiss. Her hands are awkward on his chest and his are wrapped too tightly around her waist, pulling her closer, closer, closer until there is no room between them for air. But it feels right. Like it was meant to be; the kiss that tastes like eternity; a kiss from Hermione to Harry.

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><p>So what if I'm weird, I LIKE this one! Hmph. (because only hermione really kisses harry because she knows him!)<p>

Aimlessly Unknown


	3. rock you like a hurricane

She loves like a hurricane. No one expects it; they all expect the ugly little bookworm to love like a brook. Like a slow, soothing body of water that flows and sways out of the way of rocks and harsh things. They expect slow kisses and cuddling by the fireplace as she reads a large book and holds onto him like he's a pillow.

He knows that they are wrong.

She loves angrily, almost. She loves like a crazed swirl of emotion and an aching, twisting pain in her chest. She loves like a racing heart underneath a broken chest – pumping, pumping, pumping as fast as it can. She loves like a twister, she loves intensely. She loves like a thousand stars exploding in a supernova turning into a black hole, her eyes dark circles pulling him in, in, in until all he knows is the curve of her jaw-line and the camber of her lips against his own.

She deserves to, she deserves the desperate love, because she is too used to intensity than calm. She is used to running, running, fighting, and pain before she will ever be used to calm and sweet – cherished hugs, slow kisses. She wants the passion, the burning fiery grit of love and desire burning inside her chest. She _deserves_ the calm he tells himself; but she doesn't want it. And he is what she wants. He is what she needs and he wants so badly to give himself to her.

So he does, and he'll live with the hurricane.


	4. parent's choice

Lily was brainy, bookish, and beautiful. She covets knowledge like a precious treasure that glints and glimmers in the light when she presents it to the world. She is like a star, she burns, burns, burns for the forever that her fairytales promise. She cries out to the world and pleads that they hear her with their ears-wide-open. She aches inside, pressing all right buttons, and achieves greatness. But she pays the price. She loses out on family and acceptance and safety for a world of anger and danger and betrayal.

Someone says that Lily would want Hermione for her Harry. But they're wrong. She sees so much of herself in Hermione that it physically would ache if she wasn't (deaddeaddead) gone. She doesn't want Hermione for her Harry – she wants a nice Muggle girl to hide Harry away. She wants Harry to look at the Muggle girl and not think of the Hunt, of Horcruxes, of _pain_.

Hermione bears too many reminders.

(_but she's also so determined and brainy and bookish and everything Harry has ever needed in a person – she was the determination, the sun in the world of shadows_.)

* * *

><p>James loves pranks, loves the idea of making something happen, of controlling people, and their reactions. He strolls through life and makes people (stopandlisten) stare at him because he's <em>that good<em>. He has a good family, a bunch of wonderful friends, and all that he could ever want in the world in his arms (his ring is on her finger). But he also learns, first-hand, about betrayal and anguish and losing hope against a force too strong for him to handle. The world had cow-towed to him as a child, now he finds himself bending until he breaks for the world that will never thank him.

They say he would want Ginny for his Harry. He wants the red hair to continue through Harry where he and Lily failed. He wants the pranks and the silly little girl for his too-serious-boy. But, oh, that is a lie.

He wants Hermione for his Harry. He wants the logical girl that kept his son alive. He wants the Lily to his James; but, more than that, he has faith in the heroine. He believes in the girl that was the only reason Harry survived – by Hermione's brilliance and his Lily's (stupidstupidbutsoworthit) sacrifice. Look at the girl that saved his best friend, saved his son, saved a hippogriff, saved the world – he wants that girl for his boy.

Ginny is too childish, too little-girl, and Harry needs to be taken care.

(_Hermione is every reminder of Lily, every good thing about his wife rolled into one, but with her own flair. And Harry _needs_ her; she is the zenith of a star – the supernova in the vastness of space, the only constant_.)


	5. i do, but she doesn't

"Swear to me on something that matters." Harry tells him as she walks down the aisle. There is only so much beauty the world can hold, in Harry's opinion, and the way his Hermione looks should be enough to break the world open. She looks lovely. Like she was an angel that fell down to Earth to bless a mere mortal like him, to allow him the pleasure of knowing and loving her until her time is up and she returns to Heaven.

He does not look at Harry, "Victory."

With those words Harry shuts his eyes tightly and does not let the tears fall. Because Hermione is walking down the aisle in a beautiful white dress that Ginny Malfoy helped her pick out, and her hair looks lovely – completely contained within pins and baubles that Luna loved creating.

She is smiling so brilliantly.

She is happy.

He does not cry because Hermione is about to make it up to the podium where her future husband lies in wait for her.

Her future husband…who is not Harry.

Harry turns away just as Hermione reaches Victor. The ceremony is beautiful. Just. Like. Hermione.

"I do."

And the first tear falls.


	6. darling, won't you

They play a game. They go back and forth and back and forth until one of them is rendered speechless by the other's statement. It is a habit, nowadays, and neither truly thinks either will win. Neither really wants the other to win. Harry gloats far too much and Hermione can't help but say 'I told you so' when she wins.

'_Darling won't you_' – they call it – and yet neither have ever truly caved to the other.

"Darling, won't you kiss me?" She asks him teasingly late one night. She puckers her lips jokingly.

"Darling, won't you put down the book and dance with me?" He says warmly, holding out his hand to hers, as 'O Children' plays softly behind them.

"Darling, won't you hold me close?" She asks, rising to her feet and stepping into his embrace.

"Darling, won't you let me love you?" He asks, pressing soothing kisses to her head. He rubs her back softly, letting his fingers dance along her skin until he can play her like a melody that only he knows.

"Darling, won't you say you love me?" She besets a warm kiss on his neck, nuzzling like a cat into the hollow of his throat. She can feel his heart pounding against his chest and it is the sweetest sound she's ever heard after years of violence and death.

He stops swaying. He looks at her, deep in her dark eyes, and whispers, "Darling, Hermione," as he speaks he falls to his knees, "won't you make me the happiest man alive?"

She gasps softly, hands rising to her mouth, and tears fill her eyes.

"Darling," Harry's smile is blinding, "won't you marry me?"

"Harry James Potter if this is some joke to win a game," She threatens lowly, her entire body poised to strike.

Harry pulls out a large ring, a simple diamond on a simple silver band with two sparkling emeralds set aside it, "Hermione Jane Granger – won't you please be my wife?"

"Oh, Harry," She cries, "Of course!"

She leaps into his arms and he swings her around happily.

All the gloating Harry does, once he wins, is on Hermione's finger – and it's all he needs.


	7. looking at forever

"Won't you open those eyes?" He asks one night in bed, rolling her on her side and staring down at her stubbornly closed eyes. He shakes her once, twice, three times and begs her to open her eyes.

"'Mione – just look at me; just once, 'Mione and then I'll be quiet, I promise." His voice shakes as much as he shakes her. His skin is so warm against her cold skin and he knows she wants him to hug her and warm her up, because she doesn't like the cold. She doesn't like the cold or the wet.

She remains silent and he knows she's mad at him. He's mad at himself, sometimes, because he should have done more – done better. She asked him to do one thing, just one thing and he failed. He hasn't failed in this War, he's tried so hard not to. He won the War. He won't the War but lost the battle with his Hermione and that hurts on the inside.

He presses a sad, wet kiss on her lips, and wishes she would open her eyes once more.

Then she could blink at him blearily and smile, crinkling the edges in that cute way he loves so much. She could stare at him curiously as he attempts to make dinner. She could read those books she handles so lovingly. But she won't, because she's mad at him.

Because he failed to protect her.

Harry huddles her body to his and wishes, for the umpteenth time, that she would look at him.

Just once more – just once.

(_like she did before the killing curse stole her eyes away_)


	8. for you my love, i'll go dark

Her voice was deceptively quiet, full of venom, "You think you're better because you cause pain? Because you can make people beg for you to stop?" Her eyes were downcast, her tumbles of hair casting shadows across the razor of her cheekbones, and said, "You think it makes you powerful? You think _that_ is power?" Her eyes snapped up and they were ice cold, like poison darts and the coldest onyx he's ever seen, "Then let me show you the power I have, Thomas."

Without a second thought she raised her wand and screamed, "_CRUCIO_!"

There was a shrill, piercing cry from his Death Eaters as Voldemort began to scream.

When she was done and he was a writhing mass of flesh on the ground Hermione Granger looked up to the shocked and horrified faces of his Death Eaters.

"Hello," Her smile was as sharp as her cheekbones and as full of venom as her eyes, "I'm Hermione Granger. I'm a Mudblood. You've just tried to kill the man I love," There was a silence, "Basically, run."


	9. don't let me go

"_I'll go with you_." She croaks out, the tears falling like thousands of glittering stars falling from a pitch black sky. Her skin turns blotchy and edges just enough with the shade of devastation to make Harry's entire soul ache inside. He never wants to see that look on Hermione's face. She has looked like it enough; all those times she fought with Ron, all those late night study sessions, all that running running running from death and its eaters.

Ron stands behind them (_always behind, always left back, but, oh, he left and that makes it harder to be angry with them for being ahead_) and watches the girl he's almost sure he loves with all his heart step up to her best friend. She wraps her arms around him and they sob together and, sweet _Merlin_, even their tears seem to fall in sync. She sags against Harry, holding him tightly, and Ron isn't sure who is comforting who because they both look so broken that it physically aches in his chest.

Hermione lets out a rough cry and Harry gives Ron a look, one that says '_she must never cry like this again, do you understand_?' and Ron does understand; he understands more than they think he does. Recalls suddenly all the looks and the smiles, the hugs and the reassurances, all that time he was gone and he has no idea what happened then! He missed so much and now it seems like he will miss more. Because Ron _does_ understand and he also understands exactly what his understanding means; War has made him aware, War has changed him, and War has bound Harry and Hermione in ways he will never understand.

Ron watches them hug and knows, suddenly, that he will always come second in Hermione's heart, right after Harry.

If there's even room left.


	10. lead me home

Harry stays in Heaven for a lot longer than Dumbledore would have thought. The train does not come on time – does it ever? And he is waiting. Always waiting; the bench is not comfortable and he is itchy all over, the living part of him begging to go back. But there is a part of him, always has been – just there, beneath the flesh, that wants to stay. That wants to rest. Curl up and fall away, let the rest of the world deal with Voldemort. He's fought so hard, fought battles that he didn't have to because of his _saving people thing_. And now he's tired.

Another strong urge to stay – perhaps that is why the train is not coming. It senses his hesitation, the fact that he just wants to _give up_. He will wait only a few moments longer. Then, he decides, he will leave. Search for a door that will take him to his family and, there, finally, he can stop fighting.

"The train isn't coming because you don't want it to, Harry." A voice comes. It is high-pitched and gentle, so very familiar. Hermione is standing there. Her hair is tossing in the false wind and she is dressed down in a white dress. She looks simple, elegant, _stunning_.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" He asks, "You should be on Earth. You're not—!"

His heart stops dead in his chest as he realizes what her presence here means.

"Hermione," His voice is choked, wrought with the implications, "You…you're dead?"

His voice drops into a whisper; this is his every nightmare. Hermione, his Hermione, here, in Heaven, alone. She is dead. He didn't protect her. He was dead. Gone; but he has to go back. He has to go back and bring her back. He'll fight Death if he has to, she will come back with him. His mind is aflutter with ideas, twisting and plotting mad ways to haul her back with him. Or not. Maybe they should just stay in Heaven. Stay together, the two of them, waiting for Ron. They could build a house and live together, have their own eternity.

No fighting, no pain, just Heaven and Hermione.

Hermione shakes her head, "No, Harry, I'm not dead. I'm a projection of your mind."

He doesn't quite understand.

"You see," She's got Hermione's know it all voice, this projection of his, "You've projected me here as a sort of…_guide_. I'm here to allow you to think through your decisions. I assume it was because I'm the more logical of your choices."

She is clearly referring to Ron, but Harry isn't thinking of his red-headed brother. He's too busy trying to wrap his head around this mad, mad idea that he needs Hermione to help him choose (_but, then, it's always been like that – she is every good choice he's made in his life_).

"So, what's your advice, guide-Hermione?" He asks wryly. Her smile loses some of its warmth at his voice. She takes her place beside him on the bench, staring forward blankly. He's about to ask again but she begins to speak.

"I want you to come back. Human-me. She misses you, desperately." Guide-Hermione tells him softly.

He is curious, "How d'you know?"

Guide-Hermione turns honest eyes to him, "Because I'm her, Harry. And when you go back, I'm going to miss you terribly."

"I thought you were a projection." Harry says.

"I am," She confesses, "but that doesn't mean I won't know you're gone."

Harry looks back at the tracks. Wonders what kind of person he would have to be to hurt Hermione Jane Granger – most brilliant witch of her age. Then he gets a face full of bushy, brown hair and a pair of sweet lips on his own. He closes his eyes and kisses her back. It is not a sweet, romantic kiss. It's a deceptively angry kiss – she wants him back, she wants him to stay, but he can't and he won't.

It still leaves his mouth tingling.

"Goodbye, Harry." She whispers, "I'll miss you."

"No," He says, thinking of a bruised, battered, but not broken Hermione waiting for him, "You won't."

Then the train arrives.

Back on Earth, with Hermione standing there looking at him like he is the last good thing in a world of death and pain, he thinks about her in white.

He'd like to see it again.


End file.
